


The Monster In The Mirror

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: Reddit Prompts [46]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Birthday, First Manifestation of Magic, Gen, Magic, Sexism, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 10:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18387041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Based on a prompt from r/dragonageThings between Marisol Trevelyan and her half-brothers have never been anything approaching "good." One fateful fight leads to a discovery that changes the rest of her life.





	The Monster In The Mirror

**Prompt 1** : The first time your OC encounters magic.

 

**9:24 Dragon, summer time.**

 

“Papa, how do they do that??”

 

Bann Trevelyan chuckled as he took in his only daughter’s wide-eyed stare at the performance going on at the family’s estate. It was just past sunset. Dinner had been eaten and cleared away and the family and their guests had gathered outdoors with a view toward the sea. Below, at the shore, tiny specs that were, in fact, people in robes, waved their hands in ornate patterns. Moments later, another burst of light flew upwards and exploded into the shape of a rose in bright pink hues. Shortly after, rings in gold tones followed it.

 

“Well,” the bann started to explain, “some artisans work with special powders and set them alight. If all goes well, the concoction flies into the sky and bursts into pretty colors like that.” He pointed upward as another light flew up and burst into a sea of green sparkles in the sky.

 

Marisol giggled, watching the display. “So pretty!”

 

“But, on occasion, things can go wrong. Sometimes those things explode before they get off the ground and people get hurt. So we’ve got something safer,” he said after several more shapes lit up and faded from the sky.

 

Marisol frowned. “People get hurt?”

 

“Yes, love. Fire’s dangerous, after all.”

 

“Then what are those people doing? Are they going to be hurt?” her mouth curved sharply into a frown.

 

“No, my dear. They’ve practiced their craft a very, very long time. They aren’t using fire. Those people are mages. They are using magic to do that.”

 

The child pursed her lips as she watched more glowing shapes burst into the air, seemingly deep in thought. “Do people go to the university to learn that?”

 

Vernon Trevelyan sighed and ran a hand through his dark curls that were ever so slowly shifting to a silver tone. “Magic isn’t something one can simply hire a tutor to learn it from, Marisol. It… Well… it’s something that the Maker decides. Mages are born with magic, it just takes a while for it to show up. Sort of like the teeth that come in after your baby teeth fall out.”

 

“Father, you’re being too kind. Mages are more dangerous than fire. Everyone knows this.” A man that looked like a younger copy of the bann spoke up, letting disdain heavily color his voice. It was the birthday boy and the eldest of Vernon’s children, Augustus. The gathering was to celebrate his 19th year.

 

“Ah, you’ve been in the company of the Revered Mother and Knight-Commander, it would seem,” the bann said in a flat tone. “Do bear in mind that they are not the only voices to take into consideration when reaching a conclusion, son.”

 

Augustus leveled a scowl at his young sister and then turned to leave. “Only a fool would be so quick to dismiss the wisdom of the Maker’s servants. Mages are tragedies waiting to happen. And isn’t it rather late for little girls to be up?”

 

After the heir-apparent had taken his leave, Marisol frowned and clung to her father’s side. “Why is ‘Gus always so mean to me?”

 

Vernon shook his head and scooped her into his arms. “Some people, my dear, take the pain they feel and lash out at others. It is disgraceful and a very wrong thing to do. It’s okay to be sad and to feel hurt, but it is never okay to hurt others to make yourself feel better. Do you understand me, young lady?”

 

She nodded hesitantly. “What made ‘Gus hurt?”

 

The bann went into the manor proper with his daughter in tow, making for the stairs. “A long time ago, the mother of your brothers got very, very sick. We tried a great many things to help her get better, even magic, but it wasn’t to be. The Maker… took her to his side to rest, to be free of pain and suffering.”

 

He came to a stop by a white and red painted door and pushed it open. He guided Marisol into her room. “Your big brother still seems to blame mages for not being able to help his mother. And he has the rather foolish notion that your mother wants to replace his mother.”

 

Marisol glowered and folded her arms. “Mama’s MY mama! He can’t have her!”

 

Vernon chuckled sadly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Love is never lessened by sharing it, my dear. Nor is it disrespecting the departed to love someone new once you feel ready to put your heart back out there. Remember that.”

 

The door softly creaked open, revealing the smiling face of Lady Ana Mari Trevelyan. “I had wondered where you two had gone. Perhaps we shall proceed with a bedtime prayer before tucking in, yes?”

 

**9:26 Dragon, midsummer.**

 

The Trevelyans of Ostwick were celebrating another birthday party at their estate; the occasion being the ninth birthday of the youngest member of the family: Marisol. The grand hall was full of visiting relatives from nearly every corner of the Free Marches: aunt Hellena from Markham, uncle Edmund from Wycome, and cousin Elanora from Ansburg were but a few of the many who’d shown up. Several children from nearby noble families along with their parents were also in attendance. There was one absence that was noticed and whispered about as if it were a scandal: Augustus had not bothered to attend the gathering, nor had he even bothered to send a note regarding his absence. The eldest son snubbing his sister’s party had been noted by every person with even the slightest penchant for gossip. Not that it mattered to Marisol. To her, it was simply one less mean person at her party.

 

However, their brothers Remus and Romulus were determined to make up for the lack of their elder brother’s input when it came to cruelty.

 

Marisol had stared longingly at the cake. It was _her_ cake. Three tiers, yellow frosting with white lacy details criss-crossing it in icing, and, if rumors from the kitchen were to be believed, filled with raspberry jam. Her mouth watered just looking at it.

 

Remus, her second-eldest brother, strolled up to the table holding the cake and other refreshments with a smirk. He held a large plate in one hand and a knife in the other. Wordlessly, he began delicately sawing the top layer of the cake off.

 

“HEY! Mama says no one can have any cake until after everyone’s sings!” Marisol protested.

 

“She’s not _my_ mother, you stupid little half-blood bastard,” Remus said as he scooted the top layer on to his plate and then fled.

 

Marisol screamed in rage and tried to chase after him. She was caught by one of her aunts. “Now, now. We mustn’t make a scene, it wouldn’t be ladylike.”

 

“But didn’t you hear what he called me? He’s not being ladylike, either!” the birthday girl shot back.

 

For some reason, her aunt found that amusing.

 

Eventually, Marisol got a piece of her own cake and she thought it the best cake she’d ever eaten. But it had not washed out the taste of Remus’ hurtful words. Nor had it dimmed her anger. The smug bastard was sat in a corner eating his ill-gotten gain.

 

Things had never, ever been harmonious between the Trevelyan brothers and their little half-sister. If the lads saw an opportunity to annoy her, they took it. They were usually careful and only did so when their father and step-mother were occupied elsewhere. When father was watchful, they played the part of well-mannered gentlemen. However, the bann was busy conversing with his guests that day, which meant the brothers didn’t have to bother with putting on a show.

 

Romulus, the brother closest to her in age, had made his way to the pile of gifts her guests had brought and left on a table by the hearth. He was steadily opening them and pouring the contents into one of two piles. One pile held delicate dolls made of porcelain, puffy dresses in her favorite shade of red, and other items that were decidedly of a girlish nature. The other pile held more generic things: quills, ink pots, fancy stationery, and the like.

 

“STOP IT! THOSE ARE MINE!”

 

Marisol didn’t bother with trying to get an adult; they seemed to find her being upset more entertaining than something to take seriously. She flew at her brother and pinned him to the floor, trying to hit him in the mouth. While her fists didn’t land on their intended mark, she _had_ given him a black eye and a few blows onto his nose.

 

It was Lady Trevelyan who pulled her daughter off of her squealing and bloodied half-sibling. “Mija! What has gotten into you?! Why are you doing this?”

 

Romulus put on a pitiful display. “I just wanted to see what was in the boxes!”

 

Ana Mari sighed raggedly. “Be that as it may, you should have waited for your sister to open her presents on her own. They were not put there for you, young man. And you, young lady! Do not think that you will get away with this, birthday or no. Both of you stay here, I am getting your father.”

 

The second Lady Trevelyan’s back was turned, Romulus grabbed the pile of “girlish” gifts and heaved them into the hearth, where they were quickly consumed by the flames. He stuck his tongue out at Marisol after he was done.

 

A scream of rage rang out, followed by a roar of thunder and the smell of ozone. All conversation came to an abrupt halt. A bolt of lightning had hit Romulus in the hindquarters, sending him flying. He was a whimpering pile at the opposite end of the hall. Marisol looked down at her hands in horror, then at her brother, and back again. She had not _meant_ to do that. She didn’t even know she **could** do that!

 

Unbidden, father’s words from several years ago came into her mind: “ _Mages are born with magic, it just takes a while for it to show up. Sort of like the teeth th_ _at_ _come_ _in_ _after your baby teeth fall out.”_

 

Had she just… done magic? Was that where the lightning had come from? She wanted to hide and curl up in a ball when she noticed the looks of fear written on nearly every face at the gathering. Every face but father’s.

 

Another, more insidious, thought from the past came into her mind, courtesy of Augustus: “ _Mages are tragedies waiting to happen.”_

 

Tears began pouring down her cheeks. She didn’t want to be a monster!


End file.
